


Found Home in your Arms

by AndrewJohnston



Category: The Angel in the Forest (Webcomic)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Police
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrewJohnston/pseuds/AndrewJohnston
Relationships: Debora/Oliver, Larry & Montimer & Richie & Ronnie, Larry/Montimer, Maurice/Jack, Vincent/Jasper
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. The First Last Day of School

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Angel in the Forest](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/629965) by Yinller. 



**September 1st, 2019 – 7:45**

The beginning of grade 11 promised to be stale.

Same as 10th grade, sadly. Larry accepted that all the hyping up for the following year were just plain psychological warfare, conducted by the teachers for naïve kids to care about school. Thankfully, by his 6th grade’s complete and utter disappointment - and the let downs of _every_ _other year before and after_ \- the common mouse was deaf to the chants of ’Next year is gonna be so tough!’ and ’Double the studies, double the coolness next year!’. Ridiculous.

But – to be fair – he had to give kudos to this year; it certainly started on a high note.

This went through Larry’s head as he stood not five steps away from the open doors of his High School. Students piled into the old building from left and right, the lit up interior promising a crowded walk through for the mouse. He gazed up at the imposing architectural feat with wide eyes, grimacing at the sign above the double doors. It read: ’Laika Forest High School and Vocational School’. A name, which haunted him in the summer, and a name, that was the bane of his existence now.

He let his head fall back, groaning when his neck popped.

“Alright. Not… the biggest thing I have ever forgotten, right?”

The first day of school was the biggest thing he had ever forgotten.

And that’s saying something. This morning, he woke up perfectly fine - no haste, no rush, nothing. He took his time making a bowl of cereal, idly chatting with Debora through the phone about sweet nothings and the whatnot. Then she let it slip that yes; _today_ was the first of September, and the breakfast was shoveled into his mouth. Afterwards, he jumped into the shower for a ludicrously short time, throwing on an unwashed celebratory white shirt and his least shabby jeans without care - all that while _panicking_. He’d swung this decade old, brown bag over his shoulder so quickly, he hadn’t even realized it wasn’t his school bag at all. An exercise book, an apple and two pens inside; these were the things his hurrying mind thought he would need today.

Thank god he only had three lessons, and that they were all thirty minutes, led by his form teacher who overlooked late comers within a reasonable time. Poor Larry’s psyche was already in shambles when the clock tower of his school appeared on the horizon, he did _not_ need his teacher screaming at him.

And let’s not talk about the ’Monday-feeling’ that grew exponentially on the 1st of September.

(It was Wednesday.)

Stepping through the entrance, he had to give it to his High School; they sure as hell knew how spice this day up. As Larry dragged himself through the crowded main hall, still trying to comb out the knots from the wet fur on his head – he had literally zero time to dry himself after the shower - his eyes tracked the surrounding information pamphlets, vibrant drawings of the school and the brand new paint job on the walls. His nose may not have been the keenest, but he could all to easily sniff the musky scents of dozens of teenagers that bypassed him, almost bumping into his shoulders. Couple that with the fresh paint’s still present smell and whatever chemical they cleared the floor with, and you get one very disgusted Larry, covering his poor nose and searching for the nearest escape from this madness.

Turns out, while he was busy trying not suffocate, his feet automatically brought him to one of the staircases.

“Thank god…”

Stepping onto its first step, he turned to the bright, helium-filled balloons in the air, tied down to the wooden handle of the stair. Huge flowers were glued to the blank walls (some of them were so big, Larry thought he could use them as hats), and a big sign hung from the ceiling, with ’2019-2020’ written on it in great letters. When the common mouse saw this, he had to stop and just _look_ at it; one would think giving the numbers quirky eyes, wobbly legs, arms, and a mouth was unbefitting to High School’s maturity level. But then again, who was he to judge?

He still had his marble ball collection back at home, right next to a thick pack of game cards.

Some punk chose this moment to bump into his shoulder, not even bothering to glare back at him – yet Larry really wanted to grab the guy just so he could give _them_ a glare. His wish seemed to be fate’s command, as Debora’s sleek form appeared at the top of the stairs and caugth the guy by his shoulders. She spun him around and, with a firm hold, made poor raccoon face Larry’s frozen scowl.

The mouse found the happy tunes coming through the speakers quite ironic to the situation.

“I believe you owe my friend an apology,” Debora scolded, holding poor, frightened guy by his backpack.

The raccoon gave Larry an awkward smile, one that hid billions of shaking nerves.

“S-sorry…”

Larry understood him; Debora had a reputation for being plain terrifying when she was in a mood. Giving a lopsided grin, he tried to ease the guy’s worries somewhat, and to signal the squirrel that all was _fine_ , she can stop the terrorizing of the innocent. Thankfully, Debora was a sensible person, and she let go her death grip with little prompting. The punk scrambled away at the first sensation of freedom like a kicked pup, not even looking back at the steely-eyed lady, who made the cute white blouse and black skirt combination dangerously intimidating and sassy.

As Larry ascended the last bit of stairs, he mentally nodded to himself; admitting that she was a beautiful creature, one of a kind, was easy. He even had a small crush on her back in 9th grade, though that’s not something he liked to talk about. The image of Freshman Debora dropkicking people from multiple grades up her passed through his mind, how she single-handedly – as in, with one single hand – knocked out Senior athletes, then dusted herself off and asked him about his day. Freshman Larry knew that friendship was the most he could ever bear from their relationship.

That day, he also realized that if he ever were to fall in love, it would be with someone soft-spoken, someone _gentler_.

“Starting the year off grumpy, eh?” he asked after stepping onto the first floor and approaching his friend.

Much to his surprise, Debora giggled. “Nah, not really. Just had to remind people about some basic principles.”

“Ah yeah. They really tried to question your merit after all these years?” The mouse said, shaking his head in his disbelief.

“Tch, bad-mouthing me and hoping I forget it - not even to my face, o _n social media_ no less! Can you believe this!?” she said, putting one hand on her hip as her eyes found his fluffy, unkept fur. “Though… looking at your get-up, I believe everything. You are not Maurice, y’know?”

Larry wanted to die. “Can I just… borrow your comb? If it’s not a problem?”

“Nah,” Debora said dismissively, before winking, “It’s in my bag. Come on, Scruffy,” then she grabbed the mouse by the arm and, ignoring his shout of surprise, dragged him towards an open door; Room 182, their classroom.

“First of all, this is so not becoming a nickname.”

“Oh boy, then you are in for a surprise.”

“ _Second of all…_ I can walk by myself, y’know?” he grumbled, as his feet finally caught up with her tempo.

“How is that denial working out for you?” Debora raised an eyebrow knowingly. Larry wanted to argue with everything this string of jabs stood for, but he knew he wasn’t in any position to argue – not while looking like he got stuck in a washing machine.

He looked away in defeat. This way, he caught the gaze of the person leaning on the doorframe of their class - a bat from grade 12, Larry had seen him around a couple of times. An art student with a famous dad, but that’s all he remembered. Their eyes met, and for a second Larry forgot it was a bat; never had he seen such timid eyes on one before.

The magic ended when Debora spoke up;

“Don’t be sour, you don’t look half bad like this.”

This made him come back to reality. His feet hopped over the door’s threshold, and the two of them stepped into the classroom.

He looked around and noticed how he was apparently the last of their class to arrive. Thirty-two peeps (including him and Debora) waited for the form teacher to arrive inside the dimly lit classroom and start the damned day. Raccoons, weasels, ferrets, mice, foxes; everything that loved the forest’s soil – that’s what they built their school around. Most of them chatted with their partners sitting next to them, a group of four bats being the exception, who formed a tight group by dragging their seats together next to the doorframe.

Larry has known these faces for years now, so all was usual, the celebratory white button-ups notwithstanding.

He found himself pushed into a chair. Quickly recognizing the seat as the one he had been sitting at from the very first day in this school, he smiled; it was a left section wooden desk, bouncing slightly thanks to its uneven legs. He remembered choosing it for a strategical reason, as it was not too close to the teacher, but not _too_ far either, right next to the latch of a window. A perfect place to phase off on boring lessons – a habit he carried from Primary school and had yet to regret.

Debora hopped onto the seat next to him, and Larry thanked the gods she still wanted to be his desk mate.

Her hand dug through her schoolbag and proposed a comb; little strands of hair were stuck on the tool, but Larry was beyond caring. But when she handed it over to him, smirking the whole time, he knew something was up. And when she turned around to wave at the back of the classroom, completely blocking off all ways for him to escape his seat with her body, wel...

“…You trapped me, didn’t you?” he said under his breath, his glare boring a hole though the back of her head.

“Played you like a fiddle. Now start combing, we don’t want the teacher calling you out for your new fashion sense, do we?”

The possibility of being ridiculed outweighed suffering through whatever scheme she cooked together, and he began furiously dragging the perfume-scented comb over his short fur. Larry wondered about the reason he had to be trapped in there though; but a backwards glance to see who she was flagging down told him everything.

_Figures._

“Hey guys! Lookin’ fresh!” Debora chirped at the approaching two bats.

One’s fur was of darker yellow color, the unfastened collar button of his white shirt leaving his neck open for all to see. He had his nose buried in the pages of a thick book, with ’The Adventures of the Crimson Typhoon’ reflecting on its red cover. That was Jack’s gimmick, the quiet bookworm of the class - though the ’quiet’ part was rather relative. Some days, the class would watch a reserved, asocial Jack in the corner, reading some thick book he somehow managed to bring to school without breaking his spine. But some days, they would witness a goofy, smiley and animated hyperbole, who enjoyed Metal, Rock ’n’ Roll and wrecking havoc with his darling.

You could flip a coin every day.

Around Jack’s torso, hugging into his side, was said darling; a smaller bat, smokey grey fur clashing marvelously with the white of his shirt. A black denim jacket over his shoulders made teachers scowl and students just blink in awe, because _really,_ the bad boy jacket should definitely clash with the shirt, yet… it didn’t. No, they _complimented_ each other with no logical reason other than ’it just was’. But that’s Maurice for you; their whole class got used to how he made every single getup – without exceptions - look like it came from the front of a Louis Vuitton magazine. It was his, the bubbly, energetic Maurice’s signature. Once he was splashed in the face by a bucket of orange paint, _the quick drying one_ , and wouldn’t you know it; it painted his fur and clothes in such a way, splashed-patterned jackets and face paint were the fashion amongst teenagers for a solid month.

“Aw, thanks hon!” Maurice giggled, hopping onto Debora’s desk to sit, “But you can’t hide in shame either, I _adore_ the patterned skirt.”

The squirrel groaned in dismay, “Thanks, but I hate it. This was the only thing at home that did not get the teachers on my hide, so… _Anyway_ , doesn’t matter. Let me introduce you to my friend here. Scruffy?”

The mouse in question did not even acknowledge all the attention on him; he was just watching Debora with a passive, emotionless face, his mouth slightly agape, combing stopped for the time being.

“On the first day, Debora. On the f- _On the morning_ of the first day.”

The squirrel just gave him a wide grin. “Sorry dude, but your circle of friends is literally a dot.”

Larry shook his head. “So…?”

“So… _we,”_ she began, motioning between the two of them, “Will spend the rest of the year widening the radius of the dot until it is a proper circle, starting with Maurice and Jack.”

The grey bat waved at the mouse energetically, his cute smile reaching his eyes. Jack turned a page and nodded.

“Come on _man_ ,” Debora pleaded, holding her hands together, ”You cannot leave this school without making some bros. That’s just absurd.”

“The craziness you usually offer to me is more than enough to fill my day with joy, thank you very much.”

“Larry…”

And now Debora looked at him with those big, beady eyes, and the mouse wondered how good she would be as an actor or a secret agent. It was kinda pathetic, really, how easily he resigned, massaging his face when the last of his defenses crumbled.

_This gal, I swear - she will be the death of me._

“Alright, Alright, you… have a point,” he hated how triumphant she looked, leaning back in her chair like she owned the place. Larry wearily turned to the two bats in front, holding out his unoccupied hand, “Larry. Though I guess you know this since we are classmates and all. But for the sake of pleasantries…”

Maurice enthusiastically grasped the outstretched hand and began shaking it.

“Hi I’m Maurice your fellow classmate too and I’m _thrilled_ to be making friends with you. I notice you being alone most of the time and I think to myself ’I should go there and say hi’ but then I don’t want to trouble you so I-”

While he rambled with the speed of a rabbit on soda, he continued shaking Larry’s hand with wild abandon. Jack’s book closed with a loud flap, the taller bat leaning in to give a soft smooch to the side of Maurice’s muzzle. Now _that_ made him freeze and stop.

“Slow down darlin’, he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying,” Jack said in that deep, easy voice, reopening his book.

“Oh… right, he-he. Sorry, I get excited sometimes. I’m Maurice.”

Jack rolled his eyes and freed up a hand to shake Larry’s own.

“I’m Jack, nice to be a friend of yours from now on.”

Dazed from the previous roller coaster, Larry nodded shakily. Maurice’s resonating energy was something he needed to topple, _preferably_ soon. His hazy eyes landed on the item Jack’s hand, and he tilted his head.

“’The Adventures of the Crimson Typhoon’? That’s a rare one,” he asked, slowly resuming the combing of his fur.

Jack glanced down at the item, then back to the mouse.

“You read?”

“From time to time.”

Debora’s snort made Larry remember why he was in this situation.

“Don’t listen to him, he is a _total_ bookworm too, just a shy one.”

The mouse rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder to Debora’s. The squirrel didn’t even bulge from her seat.

“Is it any good? I mean, the book. What’s it about?”

Jack’s eyes shone as he held up the opened item in question. A yellow paper bookmark stuck out of some pages, with Maurice’s face plastered on it. Larry smiled on the inside; having a personalized bookmark with your love’s face on it must be nice. The yellow bat’s fingertips lingered on the edge the page as he began talking;

“It takes place in medieval China, the story follows the son of a Lord and his struggles to come with his high rank.”

“Struggles?” Debora cut in, with her hands on her hips, “Why wouldn’t anyone milk that title?”

“Yes, struggles, because this particular hero utterly hates everything that is the Chinese nobility. Their egoistic attitude, their lack of empathy to other life and brutality to commoners. So, he goes out his way to experience a peasant’s life; buying stuff from the market, trying out farming, living in substandard conditions, all in disguise and behind his father’s back. One day though, he meets a peasant’s son and they fall in love.”

“Jackie sometimes reads it for me when we cuddle, it’s really good!” Maurice said, jumping in place from excitement.

“Rice, you always fall asleep while I read,” Jack debunked softly, looking down at the smaller bat like he was watching the world’s greatest treasure.

Maurice laid his head on Jack’s shoulder, his ears relaxing. “Your voice is nice.”

Debora elbowed Larry, smiling at him coyly.

“We are getting you a sweetheart next.”

The mouse groaned and head-butted the table. “Please don’t break a sweat for me.”

* * *

Outside the classroom, the bat was still leaning on the doorframe. His usually droopy ears were erect, helping him listen in the 11th grade’s activities. For some time now, he had been here, filing away what the group of bats talked about, and thanks to their close proximity to the door, their voices flowed out to the corridor all to easily.

And he did not like what he was listening to.

“So he’s the target? You say boss will like him? Light enough for him?”

“He specifically asked for underage, light fur and rodent. He will love Larry.”

“Oh, I wanted to punch his face in for so long! Acts like he is the best, just because he has _Debora_ around. Ugh.”

Montimer’s ears dropped. He peeked inside the room and searched the light-furred mouse in question. After finding him and memorizing his features – a difficult feat, because Montimer got stuck spending a good five seconds being distracted at the freshly groomed cheek fur and the intense blue eyes of the target, while the mouse listened to what the yellow bat was saying. Quickly shaking the spell off, he pushed himself away from the wall and went on his way to join grade 12 before the bell rang.

His afternoon should be busy.

* * *

**September 1st, 2019 – 11:51**

_Finally._

Three shortened lessons, and they felt like they were there so the principal could pat herself for doing the bare minimum. The only new thing he learnt was his new timetable for the year – useful, but, considering how his Wednesdays and Fridays looked, _horrifying_ \- and that’s all, really. The rest of the time was filled with the obligatory welcome speech by the teacher, the obligatory fire safety lecture that he had known since 5th grade, and then the teacher started chatting with his class’ jocks and clowns. Larry and Debora has been exchanging messages via phone the whole time, now with Maurice and Jack included, who sat at the desk behind them.

As Larry ambled through the sidewalk, approaching a short bridge over a little brook, he had to admit; the bat boyfriends were better than he expected. Granted, he had yet to meet with Jack’s energetic side and Maurice got a little overwhelming, but considering everything…

They were fun.

He and Jack easily found the same wavelength for reading. Proof of that was the paper list he was scanning through at that moment, reciting book titles he had never heard before, and he looked at these names with a critical eye.

“’Tales of the Underseas’ - probably some kind of pirate flick... ’Bloodline’ sounds epic though…” he murmured to himself, stepping onto the concrete bridge.

Jack swore they were underrated gems, and since the yellow bat had already proved to have an exquisite taste in books, Larry was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

These thoughts bounced in his head as his feet carried him home. The suburban region of his city was quiet at noon, cars and passers-by only appeared at around four in the afternoon. One floor-tall houses stood at both sides of the brook, lithe, grey streets and the occasional sprouting tree or brush dividing them. Nothing moved, only the small grass patch on the bank of the brook, as the wind gently stroked it.

It was serene, silent as the night.

Ears twitching, Larry stopped at the middle of the bridge when the echoes of his steps reached him, and he blinked in confusion. His head dipped down to look at his legs and his heel knocked onto the ground three times, all producing a weird, snappy sound, like when a bird flapped its wings.

“What the…”

His confusion was justified. It may have been quiet, but not _that_ quiet; there was no way his steps could echo so loudly. A rumbling whizz cut through the air behind him, like when someone kicked a ball with all its might, and he spun to see what it was.

Just in time for the fist to smash into his face.

Larry’s body flew ’til it hit the ground. The momentum rolled him over once, before stopping, lying down on his stomach. Fate did not give him the sweet release of unconsciousness, he had to suffer through the sharp sting in his cheek, arm, leg, hip and the taste of copper on his tongue. He raised his torso up with one hand, then looked down at himself; the little rocks of the concrete pavement made a hefty cut on his left forearm, which he could see through his ruined, torn shirt. Crimson was already soaking his light fur there, the pain radiating from it almost unbearable, but he forced his gaze away.

Steps approached him from the bridge.

“That. Felt. _Goood,_ ” said a satisfied voice. Larry glanced up, just to see the four bats from his class walking closer, leering at him like a predator would at an easy prey. One bat was pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him, the thing carrying a bundle of rope in it.

The tallest of the bats, one with a greenish fur, squatted down in front of him. “Sorry Lars, it’s only personal for him,” he said, motioning to his companion who was still nursing his fist from the hit, yet grinning like he just won the lottery,

“Wh-why…” Larry asked, trying to push himself away from his towering classmates. But when everything hurt so much…

“Well, I guess there’s no pain in telling you,” the green bat shrugged as he took the rope from the wheelbarrow and began tieing Larry’s limbs together, “Know the ’Hidden Syndicate’? That one kidnapping organization even the mafia fears? Yeah, we got a gig there. This is our initiation, actually. So can you be a bro for the last time, and just go along with it? Boss wanted someone like you, and we can’t really miss this chance. Sorry, Lars.”

By now, they taped Larry’s mouth over, with the rope tightly tieing his arms and legs together. Another bat grabbed the scruff of his neck and began raising him into the wheelbarrow.

Then came the sound of something landing on the ground nearby. The green bat and his goons looked up and seemed to freeze up for a moment.

“Montimer? What are you doing here?”

Larry resisted the pain and raised his head. The dark blue bat was there, the same one he had seen earlier that morning. He stood there, the celebratory white shirt neatly hugging onto his torso, showcasing a thin upper body. He had his hands in his pant pockets, giving out an area of coolness as he began approaching them. Larry had wondered why this guy was at his classroom, though this appearance shortened the options; Had he been there just to spy him out? Was he a man of this syndicate too, and came here to check if his classmates finished the job, as per required?

“Came for the mouse right there,” Montimer said, pointing at Larry’s weak form.

…or was he there to steal the job?

“W-what? Why?! You can’t take him, you aren’t even in the business!”

Montimer took the last step forward, then stopped, now standing face to face with the green bat. Those dark, unimpressed eyes with the bags below glanced down at Larry, then back up. The tension in the air thickened, as a series of clicks filled the air; Larry didn’t need to look around to know that he had just heard multiple pocket knives being drawn.

Panic filled his veins, his sped up heart pumping so desperately he felt it beat in his throat. Using his last bit of energy, he tried to get out of his bounds, but the drying blood and sweat on his limbs made his fur stick to the rope, rendering his trials useless.

“Boss already had this mouse on the target list today, so he wouldn’t count. Now if you don’t mind...”

Montimer moved to grab the collar of Larry’s shirt, but the green bat pushed him backwards.

“Awfully convenient it happened today, huh?” the words of the blue bat’s opposition dripped from cynicism and suspicion. His goons stepped forward, forming a wall between Larry and Montimer.

From the corner of his eye, the mouse saw a tiny movement in ’his saviour’s’ pant pocket, and a shorter, quieter click reached Larry’s ears. The sound was also worryingly familiar, and when he noticed that there was a lighter hidden in the hand that tried to grab him, Larry knew what was about to happen.

So he ducked.

Montimer clicked his tongue. “I don’t have time for this.”

The flame came to life on the lighter as he held it in front of the green bat’s face. Simultaneously, the blue bat’s other hand moved out of the pocket, bringing a small tube of body spray with its cup removed. The spray bottle’s pump and the lighter’s flame aligned perfectly, and the four bats jumped onto the ground upon realizing what was about to happen. They were in time too, because Montimer did not hesitate to activate his little home-made flamethrower.

The resulting fire gave a new light to the bridge.

The four kidnappers were quick to recover; growling at how they knew the initiation job couldn’t be this easy, they held out their pocket knives and jumped into action...

….just in time for them to meet the flying wheelbarrow face-first.

Montimer wasted no time; he was already grasping the tied down Larry to his chest and running away. The mouse finally felt the consequences of letting such cuts bleed for so long, and the last thing he saw before being swallowed by darkness was the blue bats panicked frown.


	2. Awaken in the Darkness

**September 2nd, 2019 – 7:01**

Darkness was much less exciting when the back of your eyelids gave it to you.

At least he was awake and could feel his body again, so… there’s that. There was also this tiny, but annoying, throbbing pressure in his forehead, a new addition to his safe wake-up routine. Larry tried to will it away with his mind – but to no avail. When he realized that no, he couldn’t go back to the lively darkness of unconsciousness, he began quickly accessing how his body felt.

Nothing of the headache or the thirst he expected, which was good. He didn’t dream, but, remembering a certain event with a fat, hazy cloud - he wasn’t shedding a tear he didn’t. He moved his toes, fingers, tail, neck; nothing extraordinary or faulty. He thanked whatever god was listening he still _had_ these; he watched way too many Hospital Drama flicks to know what almost bleeding out can lead to.

Basing his body on some TV series, hah! He must be out in the head.

…

Oh right _._

He felt a soft material rubbing on his forearms; a blanket, he discovered after touching it. That was new. He didn’t remember being tucked in. Maybe someone found him and brought him to the hospital? Couldn’t be, where was that sanitizer smell all hospitals had then? The beeping of the heart rate monitor was missing too, there hasn’t been a sound since consciousness grabbed him by the forehead. But then, where was he?

Well, there was one way to find out.

Slowly, he pried his eyes open. The image of a dark blue ceiling greeted him, which didn’t answer his questions. It may be just his groggy mind playing tricks with him, but the last time he checked, his room’s ceiling was _white_. He glanced sideways; yep, hundred percent not his room. Not even his house, because they _definitely_ couldn’t afford that plasma TV eyeing him back. Turning his head to the side, he finally saw what he was lying on – a sofa of some sorts. Yet another notch to the set of ’Things that my home doesn’t have unless I’m in a parallel universe’.

At least it was comfy as hell, made him wanna just lay there and do nothing.

But it was late; his mind was already spinning with anxiety. He _had_ just been the victim of kidnapping, so for all he knew, this could be the perpetrators’ lair. With a newfound energy, he raised his right arm to grasp the soft backrest of the sofa, and using this leverage, he raised himself up with his other elbow.

Good news; he was finally sitting up.

Bad news; remember how relieved he was for not having a headache and a thirst? Well, now he wished he had woken with them. At least, _then_ he would be used to their feel by now, instead of them just ramming into him the moment he sat upright.

He clutched his aching head. “Ow, ow, not good, not good, _not good,_ ” his voice sounded like a rusty, old machinery’s first startup after half a decade of abandonment. He tried to wet his lips, but his entire mouth cavity was dry and waxy.

“Stop!”

Larry froze at the random high-pitched shout. Still holding his head, he spun towards the voice; a little white mouse, around the age of five, looked back at him with a cute little panicked frown.

He blinked, speechless.

“You must lie down! Angel said you lost a lot of blood…”

As tiny hands pushed him backwards, the older mouse couldn’t take his eyes off the girl. He was about to comment something along the lines of ’What the hell’, when his chest exploded in painful, dry coughs. The little girl squealed in fright, and soon, Larry had an unfamiliar cup shoved into his hands.

“Drink, drink, drink, drink,” she chanted. He was more than happy to follow her desperate instructions; loudly gulping down the cold water, the fresh liquid sliding down his heavy throat, and his coughs subdued; by the last drop, his mouth felt alive again.

“T-thanks,” he sighed happily, giving the cup back to her, “But… who are you?”

The little mouse brightened up at his first words.

“I’m Ronnie! And you?”

“Larry,” he said, smiling back at the girl. She was an adorable sight, as she held the one size too big cup in her hands.

“Larry is a lame name,” she replied, holding out her tongue when outrage blossomed on his features.

Adorable and helpful? Yes. Respectful and nice? Doesn’t seem like it. 

“Ronnie,” a third, unknown voice said from somewhere behind the sofa. Larry’s tail stiffened under the blankets, because for him, this voice was everything _but_ unknown.

He snapped his head to the source, and was sadly, not surprised; the blue bat was in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his back, gazing at them, a steaming cup held in his hands as he quietly sipped from it. Montimer - his name if the mouse’s memory didn’t fault him - presented himself with a long-sleeved, dark blue pullover, darker than his fur, its thick collar hugging his neck. Additionally, a yellow raincoat hung from his shoulders – he looked ready to get outside.

A sheepish smile found a home on Ronnie’s face. She quietly murmured ’Sorry Angel’, then bolted out of the room through a different doorway; turns out, Larry’s sofa was in the living room.

Grasping the blanket upon realizing that now it was only him and his kidnapper, the mouse knew that he was in for it. His tail anxiously slithered under the blanket as he tried to keep eye contact with the bat, a task he found extraordinarily difficult. He did notice how, instead of looking threatening or mocking, like his classmates had, Montimer looked more tired than anything. It’s like the guy hasn’t slept in days, and Larry would have pitied him, if the bat weren’t also the one that ended up _kidnapping_ him.

Which is kind of a big deal.

“Sorry for her, she is sometimes a back-talker,” Montimer said, looking down into his mug.

“I-It’s nothing…” Larry stuttered, his grab on the sofa’s backrest tightening. Montimer’s eyes looked back up at him, and the mouse bit his tongue; his stutter had been noticed. His captor sighed and downed whatever was in the cup.

Then, much to the ire of Larry’s shaking heart, the bat began approaching the sofa.

“Listen… Larry, was it?” the mouse nodded tensely, “Here’s the deal; Ronnie is a little girl, and she is six years old. Her parents are nowhere to be found, and the syndicate wants her. But the client that intended her purchase asked for a seven year old mouse child, so she wouldn’t fit.”

“W-why is that so specific?”

“I don’t know,” Montimer whispered. As he arrived at the sofa, he leant onto the backrest with his full weight, now on the same eye level as Larry, “but when you work underground, you learn not to ask for specifics.”

The mouse gulped at this. Maybe someone requested a teenage mouse, and he was the closest who fit the bill…

“Anyway,” Montimer continued, his voice dancing on the border between somber and emotionless, “I was asked to raise her up, but, as you can see, I’m neither a mouse, nor a prey. That’s where you come in the picture.”

“W-wait, you want me to r-raise her?!”

Montimer tilted his head. “Why, I heard the businessman was thinking of getting teenagers as well. I can just give you to them and be done with it, no?”

The mouse had been backtracking ever since the quiet bat began coming closer. This comment made him jump, his left elbow slipping off the sofa, bringing his entire body down to the ground. He quickly recovered – though his headache complained anew – and faced the bat from his place on the carpet.

“Please don’t… I’ll- I’ll raise her, okay?”

Montimer quirked an eyebrow, pushing himself up. “Like she was your daughter?”

Words escaped Larry; he settled for frantic nodding.

The bat exhaled in relief, “Good,” he said, then rounded the sofa. The mouse braced himself for a hit or some kind of attack, but neither happened. Soft hands grabbed him under the armpits, and he _definitely_ did not make an unmanly squeak upon the warm touch.

“On a count of three. One, two, _three,_ ” and with the joint forces of his legs and Montimer’s arms, the mouse was successfully lifted back onto the comfortable sofa.

Not wanting to look ungrateful to draw his captor’s ire, Larry sucked up his pride and fear. “T-thanks.”

For a moment, he could swear Montimer smiled. It was a small one, and it may not have been benevolent, but it was _there_. It melted off rapidly though when the bat trailed his stare down, then averted it just as swiftly. Larry didn’t understand why Montimer was suddenly struggling to face him, blue cheeks gaining a purple hue - but after looking down at himself, he realized:

He was shirtless.

Awkwardness through the roof, Larry hurriedly grabbed the blanket and covered himself. His arms and his right side were dressed in bandages, but there was still too much fur exposed for his liking. Face hot like a furnace’s side, he coughed into his fist.

“Heh, hehe… Sorry…”

Montimer scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Food is in the fridge, eat whatever you can stomach. I’ll be back after classes.”

Classes.

Holy damn, how could he forget-

“Wait, what? Classes? How- how long was I out?” Larry asked his already busy conversation partner, who was zipping up his raincoat as he made his way to the front door.

“You were out the whole night. Approximately… seventeen hours, give or take,” Montimer said, his voice distracted as he slipped into his boots, “I will bring supplies on the way home,”

“Are you seriously leaving me here? What if I escape?”

Montimer raised an eyebrow. His hand disappeared in the pocket of his raincoat and emerged with a keyring, three tinkling metal keys hanging from it. He held it up for Larry to see, but the mouse was persistent.

“Well, what if I leave through a window?”

Montimer grabbed the middle key and jiggled it. “Good luck with that. They all have a lock, the same one,” the bat said, pocketing the item, “Also, it’s raining outside. Would you really leave with those wounds?”

Larry opened his mouth - but stopped, because that was a valid point. He glanced down at his bandaged arm and scowled at it. Searching over his body, he found other places bound by bandages; his right leg, his waist, even the side of his face. The sound of a door opening made him glance back up, just in time to see the bat step out. Once the sloppy, wet splashes of Montimer’s boot ceased, Larry sighed tiredly and laid back again. The dark blue ceiling was the first thing he saw after waking up, and it would probably be the last before the clutches of sleep yanked him down once more. Eyelids getting noticeably heavier, Larry gave in to the allure and let himself fall into the depths of darkness.

Before he could officially be out cold, however, he heard a door open with a squeak. His ears twitched as someone neared his sofa, their steps echoing with little creaks of the floor, dulled somewhat by the carpet. A thin gust of air tickled his whiskers, and he knew that this someone was standing right next to him. He didn’t open his eyes though, would have been too much work on his body.

Something soft fell onto his chest.

“Sorry,” was the small whisper that almost missed his ears. Whoever it was – and really, Larry’s mind was half asleep, he really had no clue – skipped away, in the direction they came from, it all ending with the sound of a door clicking back into its place.

With his last bits of energy, Larry moved the tip of his fingers belonging to the hand that laid on his chest; they touched the mysterious item. It was soft, velvety, and smelled wonderful.

_…A flower?_

* * *

**September 2nd, 2019 – 8:49**

The second day of school was admittedly the worst of all.

This day was the one which was guaranteed suck; you learn nothing, but still write pages. Teachers of the subjects gave their own welcome speeches, what to expect from the year, what to expect from them and what they expect of the students. The last part was the writing one, because teachers usually gave a list of things they wanted the students to get their hands on for their respective lessons, and sadly, most teachers were born perfectionist, so everything had to be written down in detail.

So, in other words; forty-five minutes of wrist pain and the monotonous clicking of the clock.

But did Debora care about it? Not at the moment, no.

The squirrel was suffering through the second lesson at the moment; Sciences. For once, it wasn’t because of the teacher; he was fine, honestly, a nice, older white mouse, who liked to tell stories about his daughter after he had given out their daily assignments. He was also lenient with students who didn’t perform well; he knew just how much of a second-act subject Sciences can feel like.

“As you may know, Sciences is a niche subject,” his deep, friendly voice reached out to the whole class, “It is in the curriculum solely to give some everyday knowledge to students, that they can use at home. We, most of all, has been learning the art of crafting with wood and metal in these last 3 or 4 years. We had our laughs, pains, A plusses and C minuses – never lower than that! I wonder how that happened, you guys must be quite the crafty brats,” the teacher winked, smiling knowingly at the nodding class.

“On a more serious note, we are in grade 11 and… Sciences has to take a second-act position. As a niche subject, it will not take part in the final test for your High School diploma at the end of grade 12, so the weekly lessons had been reduced from two to one, in favour of subjects, that _are_ part of those approaching tests....”

Debora sat at one of the four seats of the last row, the furthest away from the teacher. She had no qualms with the old mouse, she actually were friends with him, kinda, but Jack, Maurice and Larry had their seats back here, so she gave in;

’Bros before teachers’ and all.

She couldn’t pay attention to him, though, no matter how much she tried. Over and over, her eyes drifted to the empty seat next to her, the place where a light-furred idiot should have been sitting, yet was absent.

Usually, this wouldn’t ruffle her feathers, because people get sick or play truant, _big_ _deal_. What she didn’t like, however, was Larry missing at the same time as those four dunces three rows ahead. She was kind of ’friends’ with them too, though it was more like a cordial relationship from her part – they were just so freaking weird. She knew, however, that they loathed Larry for some utterly unknown reason, so much so that she caught them talking about cornering the mouse and the such. Fortunately, they had a Debora sized obstacle to get around, so that never happened.

She cursed herself, tightly holding her phone – the one day she couldn’t walk home with Larry and he gets the short end of the stick. Of course, it could be just a coincidence. A big one, but it could be. It was uncertain, and that’s why Debora couldn’t pay an ounce of attention; she was mulling over the need to call Larry’s stepfather.

Calling the damned mouse himself resulted in a disappointed beep.

Jack tapped her shoulder. She bit her lip and turned to the yellow bat, who raised a curious brow back at her. Glancing at the teacher, and, seeing him finished with his speech - as he let the class do whatever they wanted for the rest of the lesson – she decided to finally act.

“Can you ring me?” Jack and Maurice shared a glance, then looked back at her questioningly, “It’s for Larry. I think something might be wrong, but I have to make sure. Please?”

Hearing the mouse’s name, Maurice was already dialing her number. After some seconds, Debora’s phone began ringing, just loud enough to catch the teacher’s attention at the front of the class. She pretended to be surprised by the call, widening her eyes in a faux-shock.

“Excuse me?” she raised her arm, “I must take this call. It’s really urgent,” she stuffed her voice with just a hint of desperate panic for those sweet, _sweet_ empathy points.

“Very well,” the teacher said, motioning to the exit of the class. Debora stood up, pushing her chair back – she was out of the room in a flash, the door clossing behind her with a quiet click, and Maurice’s call ended right away. She would buy something for them later, but now, she had an adoptive father to call.

Bracing herself, she scrolled through her phone’s library. She had never actually used the number, the only reason her phone had it was because she copied it when no one looked. Asking Larry for his dad’s number was weird, and she wasn’t really a fan of the man himself, so she kinda had to steal it. For emergencies.

Stepping onto the cold tiles the female bathroom, he pressed the ’Call’ button and held the device to her ear.

It rang once…

Twice…

Thrice…

Then the line cracked to life.

“ _Who’s t’is?_ ” game through the grumpy, accented male voice.

“It’s Debora, your son’s friend.”

“ _Oh, the lassie. Ah assume he gave ye mah number_?”

Not at all true, but her goal didn’t require honesty. “Yes, sir. Larry didn’t come to school and I have a suspicion he may have been bullied. I just want to know if he’s ok-”

“ _How would Ah know it? Damn laddie didn’t e’en come home yesterday. Tried callin’ him several times, but his phone is aff_.”

That much she had discovered herself. “Wait, you mean Larry is missing? Like, legit nowhere to be found?!”

“ _Are ye corned beef, squirrel? Aye, goddamned son of mine ’legit’ jist vanished_.”

If Debora weren’t on the verge of crying herself, she would have some loud words with this stump of a man.

“B-but do the police know? Are they searching for him?”

“ _Hauld yer horses, lassie. Nae cop of anyone’s will come close tae nothing! I’m doing th’ search by myself._ ”

Was… was she hearing right?

“ _An’ if ye know what’s gud for ye, squirrel, ye accept ’at Lawrence is either gone or found. Don’t let me fin’ you snoopin’ around._ ”

Then this guy had the gall to end the call.

Debora’s cold’s hands clutched the phone to her heart as she left the bathroom, her wide, wet eyes were glued to the corridor’s floor.

“Yikes… that doesn’t look good.”

“’bora…”

She glimpsed up, just to see Jack and Maurice running towards her in the quiet hall. Seeing their soft, worried frowns, she felt every bit of her resolve crumble into paper clips. When Maurice stepped up to see if she was alright, the shaking Debora grabbed him to envelope his neck in a desperate hug, letting the tears flow. The grey bat held her barely slack body, even if her strong arms hugged the life out of him. Jack also walked up and laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, trying to show her they were there for her.

“It’s okay honey, it’s okay… Get it all out... There we go…” Maurice soothed, stroking her back.

While the two bats did everything to calm the sobbing squirrel, one of the nearby classroom’s opened; a bat stepped out, but stopped in his tracks upon noticing the spectacle. Exchanging respectful nods with Jack, he tiptoed when bypassing the little group, and he entered the male bathroom quietly.

“It’s n-not okay,” the tearful Debora spoke up, stepping away from the grey bat and wiping off her tears, „Larry is _missing_.”

The clatter of water flowing out of a tap stopped in the aforementioned bathroom.

“Wait, like, _missing_ missing?” Jack asked, his face falling in disbelief.

“Yes, and his father didn’t call the police yet! He said he would find Larry by himself and threatened me to keep out...”

“Dude, that’s-” the bats weren’t handling the situation better. Maurice was holding his own head, mind going miles per hour to make sense of the situation.

“This is immoral of him. Why don’t we just call the police ourselves?” Jack piped up tensely, “Wouldn’t that be the next logical step?”

“I planned on doing that at break time…” Debora replied, looking down at her phone’s clock, “…but I’ll tell the rest inside, we should head back. Teacher’s probably asking someone to look for us.”

And with that, the three people turned to head back to their classroom. The bats flanked Debora, ready to lend even more support if needed. Though if they were honest; she wasn’t the only one troubled. Simultaneously, the male bathroom opened, and the unknown bat peeked outside. Seeing nobody in the corridor, he stepped out and was already dialling someone.

“Mardequeo? We need to talk this afternoon - _Don’t_ think too much of it.”

* * *

**September 2nd, 2019 – 14:28**

The receptionist had been vigorously doing the paperwork at her desk, trying to make sense of her boss’s new timetable - because _of course_ he would want to clear the meetings for the rest of the day _right_ before her break. She scribbled down notes so fast, one could see smoke emerging from the paper. Her back ached from being hunched over for the last couple of hours, so she really needed that break; but two clients were still left to call.

As she was just about to copy her notes into the opened Excel file on the monitor before her, the elevator’s momentary ring disrupted the quietness of the hall. The automatic doors opened, and she glimpsed up to see who came through; it was none other than the CEO’s son. He stepped in, and her eyebrows almost launched themselves off - it was a well-known fact within the company that the relations between the CEO and his son was everything _but_ dandy.

So then why was he here?

“Good morning, Miss. Is _he_ in?” the young bat casually asked her, not an ounce of love in his voice.

“If you mean Mr. Marais, then yes, he is in his office at the moment.”

Montimer glanced at the closed door at the end of the hall. “And is he free?”

She looked at the altered timetable. “He… is,” she said, thinking, “It seems that he cleared the rest of his appointments today to meet you.”

The young bat scoffed. “I bet he did. Thank you.”

With that, the tense teen gave her a two-fingered salute, strolling up to her boss’ door to knock on it. A muffled ’Come in’ was heard, and Montimer quietly let himself inside. She sighed; just how dysfunctional can one family be? Apparently the answer was beyond her understanding, so she let it slide. Dragging the keyboard closer to her, she cracked her knuckles – she still had work to do.

The inside of the office smelled vaguely sweet, like pineapples. It was probably quite a potent odor, but when you grow up with your home smelling like a damn farm of the fruit, your nose gets used it for good. The September sun shone through the window wall; glass made out its entirety, giving a spectacular view of the busy Downtown under.

Between Montimer and the wall windows stood a wide metal desk. Behind that desk, the bulky backrest of a swivel chair looked back at him, meaning that ’Mr. Marais’ was currently gazing out of the window.

_How cliché._

“Welcome,” said a low voice, “Please, take a seat.”

The young bat rolled her eyes at the formalities. Deciding to humor the fellow bat, he did as instructed; grabbing the less bulky chair at his side of the table, he made himself comfortable.

“Not going to lie, your call gave me quite a scare. Thought one of your friends was calling that you are in critical condition after one of your… _unruly escapades_.”

Montimer kept silent. He had nothing to say to this man about his actions, nor was he particularly interested if Mardequeo was bothered or not.

“But since that’s not the case, there must be something truly urgent.”

His son leant back in his chair, crossing his legs. “Let’s just say, there will be a ’dog’ snooping around your stuff.”

The bulky swivel chair slowly turned until he was face-to-face with Mardequeo’s tired, but oh-so similar features. The elder bat wore his red business suit, with tie and all, his thin frame leaning backwards while his fingers interlocked in front of his muzzle.

“I’m surprised you notified me at all. A change of heart?”

Montimer furrowed his brows. “I _told_ you not to think too much of it. But sure, you really want to know why I bothered to help you? There you go then; I’m not a monster like you.”

Silence hung heavy in the spacious office after the statement. The digital clock buzzed silently on the corner of the table, as the two bats clashed in a heated war of the gazes. Montimer didn’t care how tired or _sad_ his so-called ’dad’ was; he stopped caring long ago.

Mardequeo cleared his throat. “Explain.”

_Oh, he did not just-_

“Seriously? What do you want me to explain?!” the younger bat’s chest swelled in slow building rage, “That you are a monster for turning a blind eye to the people needing help? That you are a monster for leading an animal-trafficking syndicate? _That you are a monster for casting me out when I needed you the most?!_ ”

“Son, you know I-” but Mardequeo had no time to finish, as the red-eyed Montimer suddenly stood up and hit the table with both his fists.

“ _Don’t_. Just- don’t,” his son’s menacing whisper quivered in the bristles of his alpha side, “I’m helping you, because you and many other people are in possible danger, and I have the means to do something about it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The situation was way too familiar for either of their liking. Mardequeo felt a sudden craving for something bitter, something that kept him awake. While the war of their eyes resumed, his hand slowly sneaked down to one drawer of the desk. Grabbing its handle, he pulled it out and took out its contents - a bottle of wine and a glass cup. He poured himself a fill, the Bordeaux liquid gently swaying in its new home. 

“I understand, Montimer. Thank you,” the first taste of wine followed his calm words as he watched the primal red disappear from his son’s eyes.

The chair creaked when Montimer fell back on it, holding his head. Mardequeo knew just how taxing going alpha was on one’s physical, especially for someone so young. Gently putting the glass down, he dragged his seat closer until he could lean on the table.

“So danger. What kind? Vigilante? Organized? Governmental?”

“…More like a father with nothing left to lose, it looks like.”

“And how do you know that?”

Montimer sighed, his degraded energy showing. “I overheard one of the recently kidnapped’s friend talk about how they called the kidnapped’s father. Apparently, threatening a teenager is not beyond your new problem’s league.”

Mardequeo looked down at the blank surface of the table in thought. His finger began circling the edge of the glass, a low squeal emitting from the smooth surface.

“A man like that does sound concerning,” the older bat whispered, his mind distracted, “Which victim’s father did you say?”

“One kid from my school.”

“That’s quite a number. Anything more specific?”

Montimer crossed his arm and glared daggers at his father. The older bat knew what this defiance meant; his son was still rebelling against him in the most dangerous way possible.

“Montimer, you know how I don’t appreciate your interferences in my business. Speaking of, you managed to hospitalize four new recruits of mine yesterday. Anything to say for yourself?”

Montimer shrugged, uncaring. “They drew the knives first.”

That was news to Mardequeo; his face hardened hearing that.

“Interesting.”

“You could say it is almost _fascinating._ ”

“I will have to speak with them personally…” the older bat mumbled, looking down at the table’s flat surface, “Also, I’m guessing the victim ran away, too? Guess I’ll have to have someone terminate him.”

Montimer’s posture stiffened at the offhanded comment. He got used to his father speaking about murder in such an easy manner, but it still rubbed him in a really bad way.

“Oh I know, _don’t_ _worry_ ,” he jeered, standing up, “Tch. I think I’m done here. The vigilante is Lawrence Dahlberg’s father, hope that will be a lead enough for you.”

Mardequeo watched his son turn his back on him and leave without looking back, not even saying a ’good bye’ or anything. When the door to his office was slammed in, the older bat massaged his face; he was too tired for this.

“Ye shouldn’t let him leave,” said a voice from the darkness of the corner. Two large eyes observed him from the shadows, “Lad’s a scunner for th’ syndicate. Why’re ye lettin’ him interrupt our businesses?”

“Three reasons,” the bat said, taking a large gulp from his fill, “One; he is my son. Two; he only disrupts at most five abductions monthly, all in a tiny part of the city. This pales to our usual 200, from both the city and the rural region. He is a minor inconvenience at best. And three…”

“Hm?”

“…” Mardequeo’s posture dropped heavily, “If I caught him, he would be directly connected to the syndicate and everything it stands for. All his life, I tried to make sure Montimer had nothing to do with the underground, and even that I failed. The least I can do now is keeping him at arms' length. I have faulted him enough in his life. Any more questions?”

The eyes finally blinked. “He will be th’ end of th’ empire ye built.”

For the first time in weeks, maybe in months, the bat smiled.

“I wish so.”


	3. The Four Corners

**September 3rd, 2019 - 0:49**

The back of your eyelids were still less exciting than dreaming, but _hey_ , at least the annoying throbbing in his forehead went away! 

A positive change, in Larry’s book at least.

Slowly opening his eyes, – not even hesitating a bit - he sat up. With a little too much enthusiasm, and he froze upon remembering that _by the way_ , the result were not exactly flattering the last time he did this. Larry stayed there, sitting up without a motion, awaiting the inevitable pain to bloom…

…

…that never happened.

_Huh_.

After another twenty seconds of breathless silence, nothing came. None of the head-splitting headache, none of that wall taste or the waxy mouth – _nothing_. He cautiously tilted his head, trying to see if they were just hiding somewhere, waiting in the depths of his mind; yet no matter how hard he coerced, everything felt alive as ever. A clearing of the throat, but even the dry coughs had to be ticked absent.

_Heck yeah!_

Smiling, his face brightened with an adventurous idea. Angling his stiff legs towards the side of the sofa, he let gravity take the wheel. The wrinkly feel of the carpet under his feet was a welcome change, and what’s best – he was finally sitting! No longer just sitting up, but actually _sitting on the sofa!_

He couldn’t care less if anyone saw him do a little victory dance. 

_THUNK_

Sadly, not every _thing_ was in a convenient mood.

“Ow,” he hissed, holding his hurt leg. Larry scowled down at the offending object, just to see one of those fancy, knee-high glass sofa tables you see at the back of every IKEA, “Damn you…”

Now that he looked at it, he faintly realized that this was not here yesterday. He specifically remembered the plasma TV – which was still looking back at him with its dark screen - and nothing else. There were also items on top of the table’s glass surface, and the mouse didn’t waste time leaning forward to scrutinize them.

There was a light blue, plastic pail at one side, containing some kind of brownish liquid. Larry sniffed the air above it and was surprised to find the faint scent of _blood_. Tiny hairs swam on the still liquid, but they looked nothing like fur; they were thicker, stubbier. His gaze slid to the wrinkly towel next to the bottom of the basin - it was one of those small fluffy ones, not quite something you’d use after a shower, but much bigger than what you’d use to dust your furniture. He grabbed it to take a sniff of it too; once again, the faint scent of blood. 

But this time, it also smelled vaguely like himself.

The last thing on the sofa table was a pile of creased bandages. Some parts of it were white with a tint of grey, signalling that they had been in use, while other parts bore patches of crimson brown, and the puzzle assembled in Larry’s mind. Snapping his gaze down to the bandages on his arms, he immediately noticed one thing; these were brand new. 

So someone redid his bandages while he was out. That someone really could have been only two people, and honestly, he doubted a six-year-old had the experience to do this.

Which left his captor, Montimer.

This thought… well, he didn’t really know what to do with this thought. While he was grateful for someone looking after him – a first time since his parents disappeared -, the deed could have easily been just for the sake of keeping him alive to fulfil his ’job’. Or worse, to keep him healthy for a future buyer.

Speaking of jobs, where was Ronnie? Might as well start earning his keep.

Larry looked around the dark room; but there were no windows for him to judge the time. Since the living room was a central one, this meant that the windows were in the surrounding rooms. A digital clock on one of the drawers was helpful enough to display ’00:56’, meaning that he slept through the rest of Tuesday. There were four rooms, each opening in a different direction; two rooms had their doors at left and right side of the hall, the others had their doors at the left and right side of the TV. 

“Alright, then.Guess it’s time to explore.”

Larry decided that finding Ronnie would be his quest. Upon standing upright, a wave of dizziness ambushed him, and his knees buckled – no, nope, _hell nope_ , he won’t let himself be sofa-bound anymore. Catching the backrest of the indigo furniture, he pushed himself once more, the bandaged wounds on his leg and hip complaining with fury. He gritted his teeth together; gosh, it stung so _freaking_ much. He waited for the heated pain to subside, and once the mouse didn’t feel like collapsing into a groaning mess, he put a little weight on that leg. Slowly, but gradually getting used to the feeling, Larry searched for the first place to explore. He needn’t much time; his eyes drifted to the right of the hall, finding the door where Montimer had watched him earlier that morning. 

“Might as well start there, I guess,” he whispered, taking the first step. Upon doing so, he quickly realized that his hip wound was probably the most serious – presumably because that was the first body part to hit concrete. Thanks to this, moving his right leg proved to be difficult; he had to limp the path to the door. But that was okay, Larry could do this - he wouldn’t let some wound get him sold away. 

_Literally_. 

Grabbing the handle and switching the lights on, a spacious white room greeted him. It was so white in fact, Larry had to squint to not be blinded by the intensive reflections of the light. A wide shower cabin took up the corners on one side, the interior of it hidden behind blurred glass. Next to it, a light blue bath mat followed the room’s C-like curve, leading to the toilet at the other end, facing a washing machine. On the other side of the mat was the wide bathroom cabinet with its mirror, and the washbasin plus tap combo, taking up the whole length of the opposing wall.

Quite a clean and ordinary bathroom, one he could get used to. 

What _did_ catch his eye was the item next to the washbasin - his school bag. He strolled up to where it lied and squatted down to unzip it. Looking over its contents, Larry sighed in relief when nothing was amiss; his pens, exercise book, granola bars that he forgot to eat, his dead phone – probably having tons of messages and unanswered calls already. Even his celebratory denim was there, baring its small rips at the hip and knee area. Otherwise it was cleaner than expected, so much so that Larry ended up taking a sniff. A velvety lavender aroma permeated his senses, meaning that it had a journey to the washing machine recently.

This only gave him more questions. One of them was;

_What am I wearing then?_

Apparently, barely anything. He was shirtless, like the last time he woke up, but now he noticed how the bandages at his hip disappeared in brown sweatpants. Its bottom hem grazed his heels, meaning it was one size too many for him, but he cared not when it was just so _soft_ and very much comfy. His legs had ample room to move in whatever angle they desired – it was perfect.

Then a question popped up in his mind.

_What if it’s his?_

This made him abandon the whole dilemma altogether. With a faint blush on his cheeks, Larry swiftly zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder, then left the bathroom as quick as he could.

Waiting for the entrance to click back into place behind him, he found his next destination’s door left to the TV. Ambling his way there on his shaky feet – and grabbing the wooden bookshelves as a leverage on the way - he entered the mysterious room; just to find heaven.

At the middle of ’heaven’, was a long table with a white cover hanging off its edges. A long, marble kitchen counter run its course at the walls, with many clean cabinets lining above, both ending in a turned off stove. Next to the stove stood the robust fridge, and Larry almost squealed in joy.

_Food_!

His stomach’s roar echoed in the silent room as he, even with the difficulties of walking, managed to run up to the fridge and open it. Montimer hadn’t lied; the shelves were packed with fresh produce. Swelling vegetables, shining fruit, white dairy – Larry so wanted to cook something. He would have done so, if there weren’t a good chance of something interrupting him. So for now, he took out a beautiful red apple and began munching on it. Apple pie would be the thirst thing he would make, _definitely_.

…Once he figured how to control the futuristic oven before him, that is.

Spirit’s high, he left his new favorite room to see what was at the other side. On the way, he glanced down at the expensive wonder of a TV, and decided to see if it sang as well as it looked. He found the remote control at its base, and after turning it on, his jaw went slack.

_Just how rich was Montimer’s father?_

Sharp, clear picture, moving with the highest frames-per-second rate he had ever seen, more than a _thousand channels_ \- what’s more was that the sound came from neither the TV nor some stereo; 

“Sweet mother of- it’s in the walls…”

Smashing the forward button until he found a cooking channel – apparently there were multiple of those, so he was lucky – he turned off the device. Surfing them once his quest in his new ’home’ ended was officially on his bucket list of the day. He took another bite from his almost forgotten apple, frowning when a second thought hit him. Turning the TV back on, he searched up channels connected to either arts or kids' stuff; maybe he could get some bonus points at both his new housemates if he knew where their programmes were on.

_You never know who appreciates a simple gesture!_

Once he found those two, he continued his journey to the door at the TV’s right. When he took hold of the latch, it resisted any kind of force – it didn’t even bulge! Larry stepped back to examine the offending piece of wood; and found an interesting perk.

This door had a lock.

Scanning the living room, he made sure he wasn’t just noticing something he should have before; but no, neither the bathroom’s, the hall’s or the kitchen’s door had that little dark circle under their handles. Not even the fifth, yet to be discovered one, so this meant that a lock was deliberately installed here. He needn’t much time to deduce what kind of room this was. He just had to remember a tired face holding up a set of keys, claiming that even the windows had locks on them, and his brain was already changing the mystery room’s name to ’Montimer’s room’.

This left one more place to explore. To the left of the hall, there was a door without a lock, the digital clock reading ’01:09’ as he passed it on the way to it. He approached the door carefully, gripping the half-eaten apple in his hands, yet it opened without a hitch. Darkness was the first thing welcoming him, the room’s shallow, nigh empty interior being the runner-up. Empty wasn’t even a strong word, the room literally had no furniture, no carpet, not even a proper paint job - it was literally the most vanilla room ever.

Empty was the right phrase, but ’Completely Empty’ wasn’t, because it did have some small stuff in it. There were random toys scattered on the bare ground, most of them plushes or dolls, and a pile of blankets lied in the furthest corner. Much to his interest, the pile moved, so he decided to check it out. Sneaking up and peeking in, Larry’s heart melted at the sight he found there; little Ronnie was engulfed in pillows, holding a little bat plush to her chest, snoring softly. He squatted down, watching the little white mouse wonder the yellow path in her dreams. He couldn’t help himself; reaching out, he stroked Ronnie’s forehead with the softest movements, and the edges of the little’s girl’s mouth curled up in a smile.

“Aww…” he cooed silently. Sitting down, he leant against the wall, not for a second ceasing his caring movements or watching Ronnie sleep. Only one thought raced through his head at the moment. 

_Maybe it won’t be so bad, after all._

__

* * *

**September 3rd, 2019, 15:54**

The kitchen was a mess.

Before the ninety-degree turn, the entire counter was covered with the remnants of garlic, the peeled crust of carrots and the tiny leaves of celery. There was also a wooden cutting board in the middle, still baring the unused parts of several tomatoes and the murdered head of a cabbage on its surface. The holders for salt and pepper stood at the two sides of this mess, guarding it. A couple leaves of thyme and chili powder found their way on the floor below, which the energetic mouse jumped over whenever he passed that part.

Speaking of him, Larry whistled a happy tune as he stirred the bubbling soup in the saucepan, parched on top of the turned on stove. His eyes bore through the steam and the bubbles; he had to make sure the soup was just the right color, as it was compulsory for it to be a perfect reddish shade of orange. Occasionally, a cooked leaf of cabbage would break the surface and peek out, just so it would submerge again with the stir of the kitchen spoon.

It smelled almost ready.

Taking out the spoon and beating some droplets off on the saucepan’s side, he stepped back from the stove. His back felt stiff from being hunched over the stove for quite some time, so he stretched out the kinks. His neck made weird popping noises, making him cringe – he never liked the sound of that. The soup only needed a couple of minutes to just boil and cool down, so he switched the stove off. Meanwhile, he grabbed a broom to clean up the mess he caused…

…Or at least, that was the original plan.

The high-pitched squeal of Ronnie and the creak of the front door closing made him freeze. There was only one person who had the means to come through that door. Throwing away the broom, he rushed out of the kitchen and caught Ronnie mid-air before she could jump on the arriving bat.

“No-no, you shouldn’t go near…” he whispered, holding the little girl back. He glanced up to see the passive face of Montimer watching him restrain her, and for once, Larry really wished he could read minds.

The bat held up two heavy bags. “I will be in the kitchen.”

“O-okay,”

Ronnie was kicking and punching and shouting and everything that six-year-olds do when they want to be let go. Larry quickly threw her over his shoulder, the shouts ceasing in her shock, and soon she found herself behind her room’s closed door. She reached for the handle, but it was too high for her to grasp. 

On the other side, Larry sighed when her screams ceased, but things were far from over. He spun around, finding Montimer looking at him from the kitchen’s frame, the bat’s eyes clouded by a weil of sadness, maybe even disappointment – it was kinda hard to read the fellow. With the two bags in his hands, the bat turned back and disappeared in the kitchen without a word. Larry fiddled with his fingers, contemplating whether he should follow his captor - then he realized that his soup was still there, with a messy kitchen-

Just the thought of it made his nape stand. 

Peeking in, the first thing he noticed were the bags on the counter (far from the messy part, thankfully). Montimer sat at the end of the dinner table, nursing his left wing. Larry frowned, but kept watch. He tried to spy out the reason Montimer was fiddling with a first aid kit, trying to bandage his otherwise fine looking arm. The bat was having difficulties though, his other hand shook like hell and it made the whole bandaging process impossible. Whenever he tried to loop the bandage around his wrists, his hand slipped, and the bandage snapped. Why was he even holding it so tight?

“Do you… need help?” he asked, making Montimer’s droopy ears twitch.

The bat let his hands drop, but kept his eyes downcast. “Aren’t you scared of me?” 

“M-maybe a little…” Larry admitted, though he still collected the courage to trot up to the table and sit down next to his captor. Holding out his hand, he watched as the bat’s eyes jumped from him, to his outstretched fingers and back to his own wing, before handing it to the arms of the other. Larry inspected the limb, pushing random spots with his thumb, trying really hard not to focus on the fact that Montimer’s fur was kinda soft and smelt soft too.

Then he pressed a patch of disgruntled fur, and the bat hissed.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad this was?”

The bat bit his tongue. “ _Four_.”

“You are still grimacing.”

“…Seven.”

Larry sighed and prodded the area around the spot. Montimer remained unresponsive, watching the mouse work.

“None of this hurt?”

“Should it?”

“If it were broken, then yes.”

Montimer nodded wordlessly. It confused him when Larry held out his hand once again, while his injured wing was right in front of him.

“I saw the other shake too.”

_Oh_.

Montimer rotated his body in his seat so he could lend both his arms before the mouse. Larry raised uninspected limb, looking it over it. He needn’t much time to have his ’Aha!’ moment.

“You have a hole in your wing.”

Montimer drew his left hand back. “Wha-”

“Right in the middle, where it joins your arm.”

The mouse was speaking the truth; a triangle-shaped part was missing from the otherwise smooth wing. Montimer tried to stretch his arm out to see just how wide the hole was, but it started shaking once more. No matter how hard he tried to stabilize his arm, it’s like his wing and arm were dragging each other away.

“Aaand done!” Larry’s voice distracted him from his inspection. Looking over to his other arm that had been under the care of the mouse, he found it bandaged up neatly, the disinfectant’s mustard yellow color slightly seeping through the fabric.

“It’s only a bruise, two weeks at most and it disappears,” the mouse said, standing up from the table and limping over to the stove. Montimer tilted his head as he watched the other use the wooden spoon to taste the steaming soup in the saucepan. Sniffing, he noticed the pleasant aroma in the air; warm, rich, with hints of what smelled like cabbage. He wasn’t a fan of the vegetable, but he would be lying if he claimed his mouth didn’t start salivating right then. 

“And my other arm?”

Larry shrugged. “Don’t know much about wings, sorry… But if I have to take a guess, the hole messes with the tension when you stretch out your arm. I don’t think you should fly ’til it heals.”

Montimer just nodded wordlessly, hugging both his limbs to himself. He continued stealing glances at the mouse as said rodent jumped over some leaves and dust on the floor without looking, landing with a grace Montimer had only witnessed from the most experienced of bats. Then he opened one of the cupboards, took out three bowls and slid them across the messy counter until they stopped in a way, that they aligned in a straight line.

“…You look familiar in the kitchen,” he murmured just loud enough for Larry’s ears to twitch.

“I’ve been making my own meals for five years now. Would be pretty disappointing if I showed rust.”

The mouse conjured a ladle out of nowhere – really, Montimer hadn’t even seen him open any drawer – and began pouring the orange soup into the bowls. “You are also good at first aid. Did your parents teach you?”

Larry’s arm froze mid-pouring, before continuing quicker than before. “Nah. I learnt both through the internet. Didn’t have either a mom or a dad to guide me, and my step _father_ didn’t really care what I did, so… Want a serving?”

Ouch. “Thank you. And… I’m sorry. I know how it feels to grow up without a father or a mother.”

“Really?” Larry asked, putting a filled bowl before Montimer, “Don’t you have a super rich dad or something?”

Montimer didn’t answer, just quietly sipped the soup. The flavors that invaded his tongue almost made him spin out of his chair, it was just so _tasty_ , but he refrained from reacting outwardly. Though, he may just get a refill after this. While he had these thoughts racing in his head, his eyes narrowed at poor Larry, who suddenly wished he could eat his words - fear made his heart beat in an irregular pattern, and he hid his stuttering hands under the table. The only thing he could do was keep eye-contact and tremble in place.

“Super rich but- nothing else.”

Larry started when Montimer suddenly sprang up of his seat. With the bowl in his hands, the bat marched out of the kitchen without a word. The mouse followed the bat’s steadfast steps with his eyes, and even after Montimer was out of his sight, he still listened to their knocks on the ground. Keys jingling, a lock undone, and a door slammed in signalled that he wouldn’t be interacting with his captor anymore.

He sighed; but stood to let Ronnie out.

* * *

**September 3rd, 2019, 19:03**

“Come here alread- _damnit_!”

Ronnie looked back at him and - yes, she totally _was_ sticking her tongue out at him. The little mouse didn’t even need to duck under the dinner table, she could pass between its legs without a hitch. Larry, on the other hand, with his body barely years away from reaching its maximum size, had to jump over the obstacle, losing time and distance in the progress. Ronnie dashed out of the kitchen, ran through the living room and into the confines of her own room.

“You have to take that shower eventually!”

“Never!”

Larry sprinted into the place, making sure to look at the sides; Ronnie was surprisingly cunning in finding new ways to trick him. He found the little girl in her corner, her chest heaving from running so much.

“Come on Ron, it’s just a shower…” Larry pleaded, approaching the little girl with the towel held out. 

“I don’ wanna!”

He had to roll his eyes, refraining to mention that he wasn’t a fan of being forced to be a father at seventeen, yet there he was.

Scooping up the little girl – for once, her admittedly impressing footwork didn’t fool Larry – he cradled her into his chest. Ronnie tried to struggle out, whining like she was at the doctor’s, and it was such a pathetic sight that the older mouse decided that enough was enough; he needed to use the big guns. He began cradling her in a slow rhythm, pushing her ear directly to where his heart was. He kept her there, making sure that she was listening to every single beat of his heart, only easing up when Ronnie started going limp in his hold.

He remembered his mom soothing him the same way. He was content it worked there too.

“What is this…?” Ronnie asked curiously, now actively trying to listen in.

“It’s called a heartbeat,” Larry said, making his way to the open bathroom.

Ronnie frowned. “What’s a ’heart’?”

“It’s… well, it’s the thing that keeps you alive, basically. One of the things at least. Do you know what blood is?”

“Angel said it’s the yucky red thing that came out of your wounds. You have a lot.”

“Angel? Who is-,” catching himself going off-topic, he shook his head, “Nevermind. So yes, blood is something that comes out of wounds when they are big enough. It’s, well, another thing that keeps us going. The heart’s work is to move the blood in our body so… we’ll keep going, essentially.”

They arrived in the bathroom and Larry was relieved to find that the tiles next to the open shower cabin were not wet.

“The beats you hear are basically the sound of the heart pushing blood through your body,” he said, closing the bathroom’s door with his feet.

Ronnie looked up at him. “Woah. Is there anything else like the heart and blood?”

“Of course,” he said as he squatted down, letting her drop onto the ground. He raised her shirt over her head to undress her, and she complied for once, “We need much more to live than just these two.”

“Like?” she asked, her eyes wide and curious, and Larry was actually impressed. Biology and anatomy weren’t the most popular topics amongst young kids the last time he checked, but it may be just him being out of the loop.

“Well, there’s a lot. Our lungs, spine, stomach, kidneys… But if I have to choose the _most_ most important out of all, it would have to be the brain. It’s probably up there with the heart and blood, actually,” as he explained, his hands helped her out of the rest of the clothes and put her into the cabin. Making sure that the shower head emitted warm water – and that the cabin’s door was open just enough for him to reach in - he took hold of the shower head and began gently spraying Ronnie’s head fur.

“The brain does things like storing your memories, making you feel, see, smell, hear stuff, and most importantly; it’s where you are, as a personality.”

“So it’s like a spider?” Ronnie asked, suddenly much more cooperative with the concept of showering. _The wonders of distraction_ , Larry mused.

“Maybe. Why a spider?” the teen said, gently scrubbing shampoo into the little girl’s fur.

“The spider makes sure that the web is clean, strong, and catches bugs. Without a spider, the web doesn’t do much...”

“That’s… a decent analogy, actually,” he said, momentarily stopping her cleaning to look down at her in surprise, “Wow. You are a smart girl, did you know that?”

“Really? Smarter than you?” she asked, excited.

Larry scoffed and shook his head. “If you know how to solve a linear inequality system with two unknown variables each, then yes, you are smarter than me.”

Ronnie looked lost again. “What’s an inequality system?”

“Trust me kid, I wish I knew that too.”

The rest of the shower went without speaking. Larry made sure that every strand of Ronnie’s being was scrubbed, shampooed and washed, though he couldn’t resist the temptation to mess with the little girl; without her knowing, he began furling wet spikes out of the fur on her cheek and chin. Ronnie only noticed something was wrong when Larry couldn’t stop snickering.

“W-why are you laughing?” she asked, annoyed.

Snorting yet another snicker, Larry dried his hands on the sweatpants and took out his phone from his pocket. From the reflection of the blank screen, Ronnie finally saw just what made the older mouse so entertained. 

She, too, started giggling.

“I’m a cactus!” 

“Well, I’ll be darned! If ya can’t gitty-up to thuh wild west, the wild west gittys-up to ya,” Larry said, trying to imitate his best Texan accent. He even tipped his non-existent cowboy hat, and it sent Ronnie into fits of giggles.

“Stooop speaking so weeeird!”

Larry reached up to turn off the water. “Ah don’t know what ya ahr japping about gal, this is how I _alwers_ spoke.”

“Nooo-!” the little girl was holding her stomach from force of her laugh. Larry used this chance to engulf her in a towel and raise her out of the cabin, her voice immediately ceasing. She shook the towel off her head and frowned at the older mouse. 

Larry wiggled his eyebrows, giving a victorious grin. 

Ronnie stuck her tongue out as an answer.

“Pfft, such a child.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be notified of each chapter's release, follow me on Twitter:  
>  https://twitter.com/andrew_bakos
> 
> Drawings, sketches and illustrations provided by the wonderful Yinller:  
>  https://twitter.com/yinllercomic


	4. Apple Pies

**September 4th, 2019 - 7:13**

The house was sleeping.

In most cases it was obviously not literal. But when it came to the lone sofa in the middle of the living room, it was everything but; a breathing lump of blankets snored between the two armrests, two furred ears and a muzzle poking out from its bowels. Only the digital clock’s faint buzz gave a subtle white noise to the interior of the room, mixed in with the soft snuffles of the sofa’s occupant. The doors were sleeping, the furniture were sleeping, everything was dark and _sleeping._

But when there are absolutes, there is always an exception.

Suddenly, one of the doors’ handle moved with a _click._ The lump on the sofa froze, seemingly anticipating something else to happen, but when nothing but the same peaceful silence filled the four walls, it returned to its steady breathing. The entrance to Montimer’s room slid out slowly with a silent creak, two watchful eyes peeking out to assess the heap of blankets. Seeing the sofa’s occupant deep in the world of dreams, the figure exhaled – and finally opened the door to its full extent.

His blue hoodie’s shoulder part creased up thanks to the strap of the school bag; an inconvenience Montimer quickly fixed by tugging down his sleeve. Carefully closing the door behind himself, he took out his phone to look at the time; 7:16. Still had half an hour ’til first lesson began. A sharp sting in his arm reminded him of the reason why he had to wake up earlier, and with the quick luxury of flying unavailable – something he could only blame himself for - he would have to walk the way to school.

Strolling towards the hall, the light from his phone’s screen illuminated his tired face. His thumb rubbed the device, scrolling though his messages – useless babbling from his immature classmates, the occasional teacher writing to him concerning an assignment, some threats from his ’father’s’ goons – yada yada, the usual.

His other hand was occupied too; his fingers clutched a plain, dark T-shirt between them, idly swinging it in the air with every step. He had spent much of the night with his muzzle stuck in his drawer, trying to find a shirt for Larry to wear, because _for real_ now; he liked shirtless guys as much as the next person, but it was obvious the mouse was getting uncomfortable being exposed like this. Sadly, even the blind could see that Montimer was a size or two bigger than Larry, so he had to find his smallest clothing.

Thus the dark shirt.

Throwing the garment on top of the sofa upon passing it, his phone buzzed from a new message; it was from an unknown number. He read it under his breath;

_> : Your clue was correct. Meet me at the earliest convenience._

An annoyed frown found his way onto his features; how did Mardequeo get his number? _Again?_ Gosh darn it, he would have to change it once more. Making friends with the local tech support has never been on his bucket list, but _whatever -_ it seemed that Mardequeo was determined to make it happen.

_Yipeee…_

A groan escaped the sofa, making Montimer stop and turn. From where he stood, frozen mid-step, he could _just_ make out Larry’s face as it hung off the side of the furniture. Much to his relief, the mouse’s eyes were closed; meaning he could carry on leaving as planned – except no, he couldn’t. His eyes refrained from looking away from the other’s visible features, and his next, weightless step directed him towards the sofa. The carpet concealed the sound of his movements, and soon, Montimer was holding onto the sofa’s backrest, fingers barely grazing the previously discarded shirt.

He tilted his head, scrutinizing his ’captive’ curiously.

Without the fearful wrinkles on his face, Larry looked so… _normal. S_ o like every other kid in the school. Except not, because the bat’s keen eyes began noticing small details he couldn’t before; the long, white whiskers growing out of the tip of Larry’s muzzle, the slightly lighter patch of fur behind Larry’s left ear, the pinkish tongue that wetted those dry lips - it was all so… _fascinating_ to the bat _._

Then he felt something tugging at his leg.

“Angel?” Montimer jumped at the slow voice, whirling around to see his assailant. Ronnie was there, rubbing her tired eyes and hugging her favorite plush bat to her chest.

“Aww, sweetheart,” he whispered, squatting down to her level, “What are you doing up so early? Can’t sleep anymore?”

Ronnie shook her head sluggishly, yawning wide.

“Lif’ me…”

His ears caught the slurred words, but he only understood them after she raised her arms. Grasping her midriff gently as if she were a delicate biscuit, he straightened back up with the little girl cuddling in his arms. She leant her small head on his chest, droopy eyes finding Larry’s sleeping form.

“Did you know that he is really smart?” her words were slow, almost forced.

“Hm? Who?”

“Him…”

Montimer’s eyes jumped to the mouse on the sofa. Larry had been in the house for some days now, and everything looked fine from the bat’s perspective. No rebellions, zero trials to escape, no tension between his two ’captives’ - nothing that could warrant worry. Larry’s presence seemed to actually have a positive effect on the house, since now Ronnie (and him) didn’t have to survive on take out food anymore.

But still – Montimer was worried, a question nagging him for some time now

“Do you… do you like Larry?”

Much to his delight, the little girl giggled. “He is funny. He made me into a cactus yesterday...”

“Must have been fun, huh?” Montimer imagined Ronnie in a cute cactus costume, and couldn’t help smiling. The little girl didn’t answer, her eyes already dropping. She was definitely more asleep than awake now.

“Angel…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What is an… an inequality system?”

Montimer blinked, because frankly, he didn’t expect _this_ question from a six-year-old.

“W-why would you want to know that?”

“Larry said…” Ronnie yawned again, nuzzling deeper into the crook of the bat’s neck, “He said I would be smarter than him if I knew.”

That’s a… _weird_ way of measuring one’s intelligence, but okay. Montimer rocked the little mouse in his arms, caressing smooth circles on her back. He didn’t reply – he wanted to listen to the gradual steadying of Ronnie’s breaths. The bat stayed like that for some time, even after the girl went limp in his hold, just swaying her with small motions, transferring all the warmth his body could offer. He looked down at Larry, poor rodent mumbling incoherently in whatever dream he was in, and Montimer smiled; a ’thank you’ gift may be in order...

…Then his eyes found the digital clock.

_7:22._

“Oh f-”

His blood pressure jumping, he almost dropped the sleeping girl in his hold. If he didn’t want to be late for the first time in his life, he had to scram quickly. Rounding the sofa with stealthy steps - not even the joints of his knees popping - he swiftly but carefully laid the little girl down next to Larry. She immediately nuzzled into the older mouse’s chest, while he just kept snoring there without a twitch of his ear. Montimer would have admired the sight if he hadn’t been in a hurry.

Then Larry had to move his arm in a way, that it brough the blanket down with itself, exposing his bandaged, but shirtless chest, and- nope _,_ he was _so_ out of there. With his hands gripping the straps of his schoolbag, Montimer tried really hard not to glance back at the house as he marched to the nearest bus stop.

The warmth in his cheeks helped him ignore the chill of the autumn.

* * *

**September 4th, 2019 - 13:34**

“Ron! Come here! I’ve got something to show you.”

Ears twitching, her enthusiastic hand stopped its scribbles on the paper. The white sheet on the ground showed a crude, uneven form of a bat, with one pointed ear still missing; it was her first drawing of Angel. She had just been about to finish this, with high hopes to have it pinned on the fridge, when Larry’s urgent call reached her. The dark-blue crayon was swiftly discarded, and, with her trusty plush in her clutches, she skipped outside her room, wondering what could Larry possibly want. The voice came from the kitchen’s direction, but they already had lunch. And if it’s not food related, then…

What else can you do in a kitchen?

Arriving within the frames of the open door, she found the older mouse inside. He stood stiffly in front of the stove, features dragged up by an excited smile – he looked so _goofy_. Made her wanna just giggle in place. 

“Tadaaa!” Larry exclaimed proudly, stepping to the side for her to see his finest achievement of the day.

The little girl blinked. “That’s the… the heater thingy.”

“Yeah!” Larry agreed wholeheartedly, his limbs barely able to keep themselves in place, “I mean, no! I’m pointing at the oven. _It works now_!”

“…It didn’t work before?”

His face fell for a moment. “Huh? Oh! No, that’s not- I mean, _I_ didn’t know how it worked before. But once I found out that this thing is so _fancy_ that the buttons and switches are controlled through a frickin’ _touchscreen_ , things became so much easier. Watch this.”

To demonstrate it to her, he pressed a quick finger to a noticeably smoother part on the oven’s side. The appliance suddenly lit up, and an entire digital interface blinked back at her from the touched part. Larry tapped one of the buttons on this interface, making all four circular stove burners ignite at the same time. Another button tapped – and now the empty interior of the oven kindled too.

“So cool! Right?”

“Uhm, yes?”

“…You have no clue what’s up, huh?”

Ronnie smiled awkwardly, the bat plush askew in her hold. Seeing this, Larry sighed; he needed to show further. Thankfully, he knew _just_ the right way to get the little girl on the same wavelength.

Opening the fridge, he took out a shiny, red fruit. “You see this? This is an apple. _Hypothetically,_ what are the things we can do with it?”

Ronnie tongued the inside of her cheek in thought. “We can… eat it?”

“True. Anything else?”

“Peel it?”

“Also true.”

“…Cook it?”

He perked up at this. “Now we are getting somewhere! But what if we _baked_ this apple with, let’s say, a little cinnamon, sugar, flour, eggs…”

“Uhm…” the little mouse frowned at the held up fruit, before her eyes widened in realization, “Apple pie?!”

Larry chuckled, “Ex-act- _ly_. Today, we are going to eat some Dahlberg family apple pie, my mom’s recipe.”

He faced the fruit like it was the best thing ever created. Throwing it up in the air, he planned to catch it with the same casualty – but then a Ronnie-sized bullet jumped at him, throwing him off his feet and making him tumble back on the kitchen tiles.

“Apple pies! Apple apple apple pies! Pies pies _pieees!_ ” the little girl chanted, jumping on Larry’s chest with an ecstatic vigor. Bearing a face so bright, it lit up the entire kitchen and a smile so wide, even the plush perked its head up to it, how could Larry do anything _but_ copy? It was good she was nigh weightless, so nothing stood in the way of their joyful laughter to fill every corner of the cozy kitchen.

Outside the kitchen’s window, a lone tree stood guard. Its lively green crown bathed in the fresh rays of the sun, casting a shadow over the bushes at its base. Montimer lazed there, where a low branch sprouted out of the trunk, one foot dangling off while he watched the events take place. His keen ears picked up every bit of the conversation, giggling when Ronnie squealed and toppled poor, unsuspecting Larry. As he leant back on the smooth bark, he watched the duo lying on the kitchen tiles, acting so pure and _thrilled_ at the concept of simple pastry, and... well, he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel a little bubbly himself.

Apple pie was his favorite food, in the end,

* * *

**September 4th, 2019 - 16:27**

Debora was friends with Larry for three years now.

Not enough for average people to know one another so thoroughly, but she made do. The guy was a walking, talking disaster, and Debora didn’t really know how he functioned _at all -_ abysmal social skills, difficulties with studying at times, and just having the nerdiest hobbies out there. Seriously – who collects marble balls anymore?! At least he was honest, could cook anything that rivaled her grandma’s, and didn’t have his head in the clouds, so considering all; he may have been the most mature of her many friends. Many people questioned her and her friendship with that ’loser’, but he was used to encouraging people to kindly _piss off._

One thing she memorized over the years was the path he took from the school to his home. It wasn’t difficult, after walking him back home for the eight time, Debora could totally write a test from the details of the 15 minute journey and pass with flying colors - Larry actually made a quiz like this, and she ended up scoring more points than the maximum.

His shellshocked face is her background picture for years now.

This knowledge was why Jack and Maurice trusted her to guide them in their search for the missing mouse.

“All right,” she began, waving a stick in the air before two bats, “Larry’s path to his home leads through three different parts, one for each of us,” the stick in her hand began drawing lines in the dirt patch between them, making three, identical square shapes. At the right of the squares, she drew a massive building, with the word ’School’ above it, while on the left side, she scribbled a tall panel house and wrote ’Larry’s flat’ underneath.

“First, he goes zig zag in the gated community west to the school. I made sure that the ones in control of the community knew that we would be sniffing around, so whoever goes there should not worry about being caught.”

While talking, she scratched a miniature gated community into the left-most cube of the school.

“What are the chances they jumped him there?” Jack asked, gripping Maurice’s hand.

“Good question. They had no way to attack him, unless one of them lived there. But still – there are chances, and I’m not taking any of them,” her firm words coerced solemn nods from both bats.

The imposing school building sowed a shadow over them. Maurice’s usually bright and joyful features drew into anxious thin lines, as he watched the dirt drawing with tired eyes. From the reddish hue and the visible veins around his pupils, the squirrel could take an educated guess that poor bat got a little sentimental last night - and honestly, she was right up there with him. Jack wasn’t faring any better; he had been coddling Maurice ever since the first minute of morning, like if the other bat were a priceless porcelain vase that could turn to dust any moment.

“Second,” she continued, “he takes a turn to the nearby brook. There, he crosses the bridge and enters the suburban region of the city.”

As she drew the shape of the little river and the bridge over it, Jack tilted his head.

“There’s a… lot of free space around that point,” he said, murmuring his thoughts.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, “The possibility of them attacking him there is slim. A lot of people could have seen it.”

Maurice scowled. “Didn’t the school let us out at noon?”

“Your point being?”

“I mean, I don’t think many people would be around at that time, especially on a Monday noon.”

Jack leant a smooch on the side of his cheek. It did very little to ease the grey bat’s worries, but he still leant into the affectionate gesture.

“That is true,” Debora said under her breath, biting her lips in thought, “We’ll see if they were smart enough to think about this.”

Then came the last square. She wordlessly scribbled angular streets just like in the first square, though this time, she emphasized the details of one building in the middle.

“The third one is a little difficult, ’cause there are multiple ways to reach his home, and he never takes the same one.”

“…Why?”

“He says he wanted to know all the nearby hiding places if- _if_ push comes to shove.” Debora replied, her words sour.

Jack opened his mouth a little, frowning at her. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing; just how _bad_ was Larry’s stepfather and how come no one did anything about it yet?! He couldn’t even fathom what it would be for him, or pray tell, for _Maurice_ to have a parent like this _._ His grip tightened around his beloved, making sure to tightly interlock their fingers.

He would quite possibly do something reckless in both scenarios.

“And the building in the middle?” he said, trying to push the discussion forward.

“ _That_ is where our best bet is. No matter what route he takes, he always passes by this ice cream parlor. If they really did do their research on Lars, then they knew that this was a point where he absolutely would go.”

She threw the stick away; there was nothing else to say. The gentle breeze of autumn’s whispers tickled their fur as they watched the crude scribble of their city on the ground. The gust picked up the smallest rocks of dirt, dragging them away like a blanket.

Debora clapped his hands together and looked at the boyfriends. “So? Who goes to the community, the bridge and the parlor?”

“I’ll take the com-,” Maurice piped up, but was cut off by Jack.

“No, you don’t. You will go to the bridge.”

Debora raised an eyebrow. She recognized that tone, filled with forced confidence - or was that just overprotectiveness? She also recognized the open-mouthed surprise on Maurice’s face, and she knew what was coming.

_Oh, boy_.

“B-but why? Why can’t _I_ got to the community?”

“I don’t like the fact that one of them might live there. It is the safest if you didn’t go there and that’s final.”

“B-b-but Jack-”

“I. Said. _Final_.”

Now Maurice was mad. His cheeks puffed out and Debora thought she saw actual steam leaving his ears.

“So what if one of them lives there! I don’t care.”

“You should, because it’s dangerous,” Jack was lucky Maurice was as oblivious as a pencil-case, if not more. Otherwise, their relationship would consist of the gray bat reading Jack like an open book – oddly fitting – because he really was that easy to see through.

“So what? You think I can’t take care of my-”

“I know perfectly well how capable you are, but _please_ , hon,” the yellow bat intoned, and Debora wondered if he would break down right then and there. That voice crack after the word ’please’ was worrying enough, but thankfully, Maurice wasn’t _that_ oblivious; upon hearing this crack in Jack’s voice, even he could puzzle together what his lover was aiming for.

“…Fine. But we will talk later, understood?” the shorter of the bats said, stepping closer to the other. Jack nodded wordlessly, not looking that relieved to have that future discussion he knew he couldn’t get out of. A shadow of an idea lit up his darling’s face, but Debora caught _that_ string of argument before it unfolded.

“Then _I_ will go to the community, so neither of you loverboys has to worry about the other. Mau goes to the parlor and you, Jack, will look around the bridge. If you find anything, just message the group chat. I think this is acceptable for all, no?”

The bats turned to her. The first traces of sour guilt wore down on Jack as he nodded in resigned understanding, his darling copying his action. They hesitantly separated, not wanting to let go, but knowing that their tasks had been given out.

Debora took a deep breath. She should have gotten used to flying on the back of one of her friends by now, but nervous thoughts always found a way; she was a damn grounded animal, she had the rights to be anxious about flying! Once Jack made sure that she was comfortable on his back, he and Maurice opened their wings and took off into the sky. They caught the winds like a well-oiled machine, their flaps helping them gain altitude until they soared above the rooftops of houses. Debora gripped the yellow bat’s shoulders, trying not to pinch too hard - she learnt her lessons the first time she flew.

Poor Maurice still blamed every backache on that particular accident.

Speaking of the grey bat, he was busy watching his darling and Debora fly in front of him. He used the silence to entertain thoughts in his head, even after they left the squirrel in the middle of the community. Why was Jack so protective all of a sudden? The chances of one or _any_ of the attackers living there was slim, and even if they _were_ living there, all four had been hospitalized. _And even_ if they had more people in their operation, why would they suspect Maurice to be sniffing around?

The awkward silence stretched between them, no matter if they were flying or standing on the steep bank of the brook. Jack had a hard time meeting his eyes, his head cutely hanging between his shoulders in an adorable showcase of shame. Maurice’s heart fluttered seeing this, almost feeling a little bad for escalating the argument, so he stepped up to the fellow bat.

“Hey…” he whispered, stroking the other’s cheek, “You all right?”

Jack closed his eyes and leant into the caress, trying to ignore the inner voice telling him how much he didn’t deserve it. A knot formed in the grey bat’s throat seeing his love like this, but if there were one thing he was exceptionally and undisputedly good, it was conjuring grins onto even the grumpiest of faces.

And wouldn’t you know it, he already had two aces in his sleeves.

“After this, wanna come over? Got the movie you wanted to show me.”

The yellow bat’s ears perked up. “You mean, Guardians? You really actually went out to buy the movie?”

“Tch,” Maurice rolled his eyes, “Of course not. I pirated it.”

“’Rice…”

“What? You know I wanted to sail the seven seas as a pup.”

“That’s not exactly how I imagined it,” The edges of Jack’s mouth twitched, _almost_ smiling, and Maurice knew he was getting through. With one ace already in use – brazenness – he flipped the other one too. Unbeknownst to the yellow bat, Maurice leant in, the spicy fragrance of Jack’s perfume tickling his nose.

“And I didn’t imagine your fricking romance book ending with a war that _definitely_ violated several points the Geneva convention, but here we are.”

“It took place in medieval China, _what did you-!_ ” Jack couldn’t finish his rant, because a pair of lips covered his own. After spluttering in surprise, he looked down at his boyfriend with a brow raised. Maurice just smirked into the kiss, forking his tongue inside the other’s maw without a care in the world. He knew exactly that Jack’s book rants could only be stopped by directly blocking his mouth, and while most people would use their hands, Maurice personally _loved_ the alternative solution.

So did Jack, but you couldn’t catch him agreeing to this.

Slowly, the yellow bat pressed back and closed his own eyes, letting himself merge in the wonderful sensations his darling was giving him. His tongue replied to the taunting wiggles while his hands circled around Maurice’s waist, dragging the other closer. They had met on the very first day of high school, when they were nothing but 15-year-old pups, barely knowing who they really were and what it was to love in this strange world.

“ _Hello! My name is Maurice, and it seems I’ll be your desk mate!_ ”

“… _Hi_.”

“ _Wow, that’s a thick book. How many pages does it have?_ ”

“… _653._ ”

“ _O-oh. Well, that’s a lot. Which page are you on?_ ”

“ _233, but… I’ve read it already. It’s my favorite book._ ”

“ _Really?! What’s it about?_ ”

It was the first rant Maurice listened to. It was also the first time he felt his heart quiver.

Jack tilted his head and gripped the other’s waist. He really didn’t deserve his beloved, but _gosh_ , was he happy to have him. Everything about Maurice was just so… incredible. The way he was a power source of inadequate babbling that inexplicably drew Jack in, the adorable dimples on the edges of his mouth when him and Debora did their pranks and then roared in laughter at the outcome, or how he nibbled the caps of soda bottles, stubbornly claiming that it was impossible to open them with bare hands…

Jack never thought of himself as selfish. But with Maurice; _It was all his._

Then came the blood odor.

“W-what?” the hazy-eyed Maurice asked as Jack ripped himself out of their embrace. The yellow bat raised his muzzle, furiously sniffing his surroundings.

“Smell the air.”

The smaller of the two bats frowned at the weird request, but did as instructed. There were traces of the spiciness of Jack’s perfume – oh, how much he wanted it back in his nose -, the sweetness of the green grass they stood on, the brook’s fresh saltiness and something really bitter. Something… very copper-y.

“Huh.”

“Huh indeed,” Jack murmured as he eyed the bridge; it was where the scent seemed to originate from, “Come.”

“Shouldn’t I be checking out the parlor?”

“Not when we may already have the crime scene.”

Maurice blinked at the Jack’s nape, who shot up in the air and landed on the bridge. Shrugging, he followed up, though instead kept his altitude and survey the area from high up. Jack wildly sniffed his surroundings, trying to find the damn source of the bloody odor - to add insult to the wound, his keen nostrils also detected subtle traces of _ash_ too.

“Hon? You are standing on something red,” Maurice shouted to him. The yellow bat’s neck popped upon dipping his head down, as he moved back from the dark circle on the ground. Crouching down and gently swiping the dusty surface, he held it in front of his nose.

_Blood. And… mice?_

He was so gobsmacked from the weird combination of scents, he did not notice Maurice landing at the other bank of the brook. The other tensely approached a rusty wheelbarrow laying on its side, its one wheel bent in an odd direction.

“Hon… is it normal to have your farm equipment dripping from blood?” Jack would be lying if he claimed his heart didn’t start pounding in his throat; his beloved sounded so… neutral. Like if the shock literally kicked the emotions out of him.

He looked over to where his darling was standing - just in time to see him flip over the rusty wheelbarrow. Sure enough, dried blood covered the circular bottom and the metallic frame that connected the handles and the wheel. The sharp copper smell on his finger was overpowering, his sensitive nose barely able to recognize whose it was. But he knew only one mouse with the smell like squirrel.

“ _You still haven’t finished combing yourself, dude?_ ”

“ _My fur is very dense! Give me a break, Debora!_ ”

Jack’s wide eyes met Maurice’s broken ones.

* * *

**September 4th, 2019 - 18:05**

The oven had been grumbling silently for the last 24 minutes. Larry and Ronnie eagerly watched the foiled pie plate through the device’s glass, as it was illuminated inside the appliance. The older mouse impatiently glanced at his the clock every ten seconds, making sure they took the plate out when _exactly_ 25 minutes had passed. Ronnie’s legs felt like jelly from jumping so much, making her hold onto Larry’s shoulder the whole time for support, _that’s_ how eager she was. Both their tails wiggled behind them synchronously, while they looked like predators about ready to lunge at their prey.

_18_ : _06_

“It’s time!” Larry exclaimed, already pressing the button on the display to turn off the oven.

Ronnie jumped a really high one, legs invigorated once more. “Time time time time time time time- It’s time!”

“Step back, Ron,” with the mittens already on, Larry grabbed the oven’s handle, “Things will get a little warm here.”

She could barely stand still from excitement, but even then, her eyes kept on boring into the silver-foiled beauty. Larry pulled down the appliance’s door, an enormous vapour cloud emerging from the confines of the oven and hitting him in the face. He batted the offending steam away and leant down to reach in. When he rose back to a standstill, he had the sides of the steaming plate gripped between his mittens as he brought it onto the counter with the utmost care. Like if he had been doing this whole cooking business all his life, he grabbed a knife from one of the nearby drawers with one hand, taking off the foil with the other, and the sweet scent of apple crust filled the walls of the kitchen. Both mice licked their chomps in anticipation as they ogled the hazy steam leave the beige-coloured top of the pie.

“This looks _really_ good…” Ronnie murmured when the knife cut through the pastry. It raised out a triangle-shaped slice from the bowl, and the part below the crust was visible now; the apple filling was a glistening shade of brown, dark, but with a slight reddish hue in the middle.

“Is that mine? Can I have it? Please?” she pleaded as Larry dumped the piece onto a flat plate.

“Hm… I don’t know. Do you think you were good enough to get it?” he asked, side-eyeing the suddenly very panicked-looking girl.

“I-I was! I even made a drawing of Angel, I will make one for you too! Pleeease…” Ronnie said, watching as he raised out another slice.

Larry rolled his eyes. He grasped the already prepared whipped-cream bottles and, after shaking them both, he poured them on top of the two pieces with a flick of his wrist, “Well, that is certainly true. Do you think you can finish the drawing before the pie cools down though?” he asked, smirking down at her.

But weirdly, Ronnie was not next to him anymore. Surprised, he looked around the kitchen, and found that the little mouse was missing from the room altogether. He wondered where she could have g-

“Come eat with us!”

That was her voice alright. And from the sound of it, it came from the living room, somewhere left of the kitchen’s door. There was only one room that way – Montimer’s room.

“Uh, are you sure Ron? I wouldn’t want to bother…” Yup, that was _his_ voice. Larry ignored the way his heart beat in his throat, instead focused on dutifully preparing another slice. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he let a mouth unfed when it needed food, not even if that mouth was of someone who almost set four people alight, threw a wheelbarrow at them without looking back and then abducted him.

Priorities people, _priorities._

“Larry made apple pie and it’s your favorite food, so you must come eat too!” as he finished pouring the whipped-cream on top of the new piece as well, he heard steps approaching outside; a set of lighter one, and one heavier.

“O-oh, right. Coming then…”

Putting the three plates and the silverware on the table, he made sure to put Ronnie’s bite in between them. Right on queue, the little girl hopped onto her seat and clawed after her fork, half a bite already racing down her throat.

“ _Mmmhm_! Can we ’ave apfle pie ev’ry day? I will-” though she spoke with her mouth full, she didn’t stop shovelling bite after bite into her maw, „-make as ’any dwawings to you as you want!”

“I will think about it once you slow down and actually _chew_ ,” Larry chided her as he took a seat on Ronnie’s right. Once she heeded his words, a little too well since now her mouth barely moved, his eyes wandered onto the bat on her left. Montimer tried to make himself as small as possible in his chair, his eyes studying the warm pastry in front of him like it was a mindboggling puzzle. The mouse wondered if he were actually afraid of the pie; like he thought it was poisoned or something. He may not have the fondest of opinions on Montimer, but he wouldn’t stoop _that_ low.

Also, deliberately messing up his work? Blasphemous! He was a proffesional, _he had standards._

With the softest of movements, the bat raised his fork and took an almost laughably small bite, sliding it onto his tongue. Like on a photograph, his face froze.

“Are you okay Angel?” even Ronnie noticed the sudden lack of movement from her left.

Montimer blinked; the tongue in his slack jaw worked on the bite with a painfully slow pace, his face set as a stone. After gulping, the fork fell out of his hand with a metallic clang, his shoulders dropping comically fast.

“Is it bad?” Larry asked, thinking. It was a long time since he heard genuine critics of his cooking, and he would be lying if he said he was ecstatic to get them again.

“No, no, it’s…” Montimer’s voice was hollow and dazed, “…good. Really good. I just- I just need a moment,” he said as he leant back in his chair, tipping his head backwards.

“Do I need to bring a medkit?”

“No…”

“He just liked your pie this much! It really is good! But can I get more, please?” Ronnie cut in, momentarily ceasing the process of licking up her empty plate.

Larry rolled his eyes – no one has ever looked like their soul left their body because they ’liked’ his cooking. But upon glancing back at the bat, he felt his mind come to a screeching halt;

Montimer was _nodding_.

“So good…” his captor whispered, absentmindedly grabbing his fork and taking a fatter bite out of the pie’s slice. Larry struggled to answer this honestly _flooring_ response, as he watched Montimer devour the next bite, fangs showing and all.

Meanwhile, said bat was on cloud nine. He had tasted many pies in his life, ranging from the unfortunate accidents he tried to make himself when he was younger, to the most expensive and delicious pastries world-renowned bakers did on the orders of Mardequeo. But none could come near to the literal perfection that danced around his tongue. The warm crust crunched in a wonderful symphony as his fangs bit into it, the soft apple filling inside welcoming him wholeheartedly. The combined taste was just the right amount of sweet, harmonizing itself with the iconic savour of apples on his tongue, and he had to seal his mouth tight so as not to start leaking fat droplets of drool.

When his plate had nothing but the smallest of crumbs and the faintest smudges of cream on it, he let the fork rest with a sigh.

“…It was superb. Thank you.”

For the first time in a very long time, Larry blushed at a compliment on his cooking.

“I-It’s fine. I can make this regularly if you two want,” Larry stuttered, looking away.

“Daily apple pies!?” Ronnie piped up, already munching halfway through her third slice.

“If I can get the ingredients, then…” Larry began, his eyes glancing at Montimer momentarily, “Maybe bi-weekly? If you can wait that long?”

“I guess…”

Montimer didn’t answer, just looked down at his plate. A genuine smile spread wide on his face, lifting his gloomy features – even his droopy ears stood just a smidge taller. Their eyes met, and for the first time since his abduction, Larry didn’t tense up or start shaking in fear. How could he, when the bat looked nothing like the criminal he met on the night of his first awakening. Montimer looked like a… normal teen, _kind_ _of_. Larry could admit to himself that the soft features of the bat appealed to his eyes, even going as far as calling the other _handsome_. He should have waved away these naïve thoughts, since it all could have been just a rouse for him to be trapped inside some false sense of security and to be exploited later. But still.

Larry was suspicious…

…and maybe a little flustered.

**Author's Note:**

> To be notified of each chapter's release, follow me on Twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/andrew_bakos
> 
> Drawings, sketches and illustrations provided by the wonderful Yinller:  
> https://twitter.com/yinllercomic


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